


Always and Never

by maydei



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Dreamwalking, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer gets closer every day, but Sam has never been further away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always and Never

He’d watched Sam through the bars of his Cage since the moment of his human’s conception.

Sam had been so small, hardly bigger than a grain of sand with no clear shape—but he was already full of life. He hadn’t had a name at the time, but Lucifer knew exactly who he was and who he would grow up to be.

_His._

The Cage was made of cold and darkness, but from Sam’s existence, Lucifer found strength. He planned endlessly, down to the final detail; not that it was necessary. Lucifer knew very well that, now that Sam was born, it was only a matter of time until he was free. After all, this entire showdown was God’s will, and it would not occur without His consent. It didn’t mean it would be easy for Lucifer to escape, but he was heartened at the knowledge that his father would not leave him to rot without one last chance to prove himself a worthy son, the _better_ son.

But until then, this was Lucifer’s existence. This was his life—waiting for the tiny soul that sang so sweet and pure like the choirs of Heaven. In the Cage, each day on Earth felt like an eternity, but Lucifer was patient (if only because he had no other choice). Eventually, he even noticed that, on one particular day a year, he could feel Sam even closer, more clearly, and could reach through to him with a tendril of his Grace. It was something like touching Sam with the tiniest tip of his finger—an achingly lacking contact, but better than anything Lucifer could imagine.

Halloween, he would come to realize later. All Hallow’s Eve. And for the briefest second when the wall between worlds was at its weakest, he could _touch_. He could feel the echoing hum of Sam’s mind, and in completing the circuit between them, if only for an instant, he could feel the blinding sense of completion that reverberated back to him.

As Sam grew older, Lucifer started to realize that Sam was waiting for him to make contact. He avoided making plans on Halloween. He made sure he was alone. In the instant that Lucifer reached out on the fifteenth Earth year, he felt Sam reach _back._

He felt the echo of ecstasy, could nearly hear the elated sound that burst from Sam’s lungs, almost see the planes of his bliss-overcome face and the arch of his spine, seeking blindly for _more_. He could feel how much Sam needed him—how much Sam _wanted_ him.

In that moment, Lucifer wondered if this sort of bittersweet longing to be near while so far away was what his Father had felt, creating his _perfect_ creatures, but unable to stand among them.

In that moment, Lucifer might have even loved Sam just a little bit.

In the years to come, he would treasure the remnants of that feeling, the fleeting wonder that carried on forever and cut through the depths of his torture. He felt these things even as Sam started to draw away just a few years later, searching for a life that could bring him the same sense of peace that Lucifer could.

Lucifer knew that Sam would never find it, but he let Sam look. So long as he did, Sam would eventually search him out in turn, if only for answers. And then he would stay.

So Lucifer thought, of course.

He couldn’t describe the feeling he got when Sam ran away and continued to run. It felt almost like betrayal, but different from the rage he felt toward Michael. This was almost like sadness—sadness enough that Lucifer twisted himself into a new shape in a wrong body, crawling toward Sam; desperate like he’d never intended to be.

He needed Sam, and though Sam needed him, it was becoming clear that he might never give in. He hated it. It made Lucifer so angry. Sam was meant to be _his_ , but Sam didn’t want him and might never want him.

Never before had Lucifer felt so disgustingly _human_. All because of Sam, The-Boy-King-That-Wasn’t; Sam, the vessel that refused his occupant; Sam, the Chaos Theory personified. Sam, who could open his mouth and change the mind of even God.

Sam, who was not Lucifer’s, despite his best attempts, and Sam, who would never be Lucifer’s, despite his longing to be just that.

So he stepped back. He disappeared into the woodwork, watching and waiting, a silent witness of Sam’s every move and waking moment and a participant in his every dream. Sam might not have known it, but as he fell asleep and his vision flashed white, as his chest seemed to ache and swell with longing, as he reached back instinctively toward the feeling he was denying, he was only ever inviting Lucifer in, and the angel entered gladly.

He didn’t need to torment Sam into submission, nor did he have any desire to. Like he had in the very beginning, it was easy to twist himself until _Lucifer_ had nearly disappeared and find his place as someone else.

It was only when Lucifer was someone else that he could be where he belonged—safe and warm, home in the arms of the one he needed and would never have, borrowing the love that would always and never be meant for him.


End file.
